


Truth or Dare?

by yamiskoi



Series: Temptation [1]
Category: Xī yóu jì | Journey to the West - Wú Cheng'en
Genre: Boys Kissing, First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Sun Wukong is GAY, They don't call him the Handsome Monkey King for nothing, This Is STUPID, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 17:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19909717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamiskoi/pseuds/yamiskoi
Summary: The disciples get bored and play truth or dare. Wukong makes a confession that amuses his younger brothers, and Sanzang is intrigued.





	Truth or Dare?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is extreeeeeeemely out-of-character for everyone concerned, and yet… I don’t care. This fandom and relationship need more love! This was just a silly idea that struck me and I couldn’t let it go. So, here it is!
> 
> Please bear in mind I am working from a translated copy of JttW, and have used the descriptions from that as part of my fic (e.g. Wukong being shorter than Sanzang).

There was perhaps a week or so before the travelers would ascend Thunder Peak to collect the Scriptures, and the years spent together had made the group very close. They were sat in a clearing on a balmy summer’s night, and the disciples were in a playful mood.

“I have an idea,” Pig began.

“First one you’ve had in your life, brother,” Friar Sand interrupted, and Wukong smirked but said nothing. Sanzang also remained silent, but did shoot his third disciple a look that encouraged him to be nicer to his brother.

“I remember those games we used to play in Heaven,” Pig continued, ignoring his younger brother and scratching his chin, “all sorts of fun things. What was that one I used to play with the ladies?”

“Was it, ‘Who can run away from Marshal Tien Peng the fastest?’?”

“Tell the truth or take a dare,” Pig remembered with a cry. Sanzang smiled nervously, remembering how he had avoided this game during his youth in the temple, the other junior monks giggling as they played well past midnight. 

Wukong raised an eyebrow. “Shoveling horse shit in the stables was more fun than that.”

“You would know, Protector of Horses. I suppose you won’t object to us playing, then?” Pig asked his elder brother. Wukong said nothing, but inclined his head to indicate that he was willing. He was sat with his back to a tree, an arm casually slung over his as-you-will cudgel, golden eyes occasionally flickering around the clearing to check for stray foul spirits and demons coming their way. Friar Sand shrugged and brought himself closer to participate.

“Fine.” Wukong’s eyes shifted to Sanzang, who realized he had been watching his eldest disciple with a start. “Are you playing, Master?”

The monk was nervous, but curious. He had seen more than he had ever dreamed of since starting his journey to collect the Scriptures. He had beheld demons of every size, shape and form, endured kidnapping after kidnapping as word got out of his immortality-bearing flesh, and enjoyed rescue after rescue as Wukong inevitably slayed the evil spirit and saved the day. He had always thought himself immune to the excitement of things, adventuring certainly not something he ever wanted to pursue again after he completed his goal, and yet… this game tantalized him. He knew that he wanted to at the very least watch, even if he was too nervous to play. He nodded, and Wukong continued his watch. 

“Right. Pig, you first. Truth or dare?”

“Why am I first?”

“Because I’m your elder and I say so. Truth or dare?”

Pig paused for the briefest moment. “Truth.”

Wukong sighed, looked around at Friar Sand and Sanzang. He smiled wryly. “Best thing you’ve ever eaten.”

Friar Sand frowned, confused. Sanzang merely felt curious. Pig understood the wicked ape’s true meaning. “My wife,” he answered slyly. 

Friar Sand snorted. Wukong looked unsurprised. Sanzang glanced between them, hoping one of them would enlighten him, but they didn’t. 

“Now you, you stinky ape,” Pig said.

“Dare,” Wukong said without hesitation. Friar Sand immediately lunged towards his elder brother and whispered something in Pig’s ear, cupping a hand around the fold to keep the sound in as best as possible. Pig grinned and chuckled, snorting. 

“Okay, okay… I, Marshal Tien Peng, dare you to transform into a sexy lady and dance for us for thirty seconds.”

Wukong was unfazed. “Fine,” he said, and got to his feet. He muttered the words of a spell, flexing his fingers, and he slowly took on the form of a beautiful, curvaceous woman. His flat, hairy chest de-fluffed itself and rounded into large breasts. His tail vanished and in its place was a large rotund bottom barely covered by a silk skirt. The only thing that remained the same was his golden eyes, his lips pressed together in a pretty pout. 

Friar Sand coughed and chortled. Sanzang tried to tear his eyes away, but found himself staring at the monkey’s transformation. In what situation would this change be advantageous for them on their journey? Before he could think of an answer, the Monkey King began dancing. Friar Sand slapped his thigh to provide a beat, and the monkey began to dance by himself, circling his hips slow and wide, eyes closing as he lost himself in the dance. His arms raised over his head and slid down against each other to grip long black hair, mussing it. Long and elegant fingers skimmed across the curves hugged by the skirt.

And then just like that, it was over. A tail emerged from under the skirt, the face of a thunder god replaced the pale, picture-perfect features, and the monkey king aimed a kick at Pig’s face.

“You pervert.”

“You were quite good at that actually,” Friar Sand said, somewhat surprised. Wukong shrugged in that careless, casual way he did, and settled back against the tree bark.

“I had lots of dancers when I was King, and ‘monkey see, monkey do’, right? Okay Sandy, how’re we getting him back for that?”

And so the night descended into silliness. The disciples reigned in their mischievousness for their master’s sake, as the dancing and declarations of favourite sexual acts were a little too lewd for his liking, but they all managed to laugh along with each other in the way that companions do. Sanzang couldn’t contain his blushes at some of the eye-opening revelations (that, indeed, there was more than one position in which one could have sex, and Friar Sand’s favourite was ‘from behind’) and odd antics they’d had before their lives as pilgrims (Pig talked a little too fondly of his food and eating fetishes). 

Time passed, and it was everyone’s final turn. Running out of ideas to keep things on the cleaner side, Friar Sand leaned back on his arms, staring up at the stars as he thought of what he could ask the Monkey King.

“Elder brother,” he began slowly, “you had many a year as the King of the Flowers and Fruit Mountain, and now you’re just like the rest of us-”

“A stinky pilgrim?” Pig interrupted. Wukong threw a stick from the tree in his direction, which the Pig dodged in an overly dramatic fashion. Sanzang turned his face away, pointedly ignoring the act. 

“-what I mean is, you’re not a King no more. So… truthfully, what do you miss most about being King, about your old life before the scriptures and the journey and us lot?”

Wukong thought about it. A cloud shifted overhead and moonlight filtered onto his face, the silvery light illuminating his golden eyes for a fleeting moment. 

“Kissing,” he answered simply.

Pig snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“I mean it!” Wukong insisted, and turned his face back to the moon, eyes taking on a distant look, “For us apes, it takes a great deal of trust to put your tongue in someone else’s mouth. Chances are you’d get it bitten off. These teeth aren’t for nothing, you know.” To prove his point, the macaque bared his teeth, fangs sharp enough to tear out the throat of any demon glinting in the moonlight. 

“So when we learned about kissing, it… it shows trust, it shows unshaking trust in the other person. And you can be close without it going further, or it can start something and you have yourself a wonderful night ahead. A kiss can be sweet, a kiss can be hot, a kiss can be…” Wukong paused, struggling to find the right word. His gaze was really distant now, remembering times long since past, “… wonderful,” he finished, somewhat anticlimactically. The faraway look faded from his face and his eyes snapped back to the group, fixing firstly on Sanzang, and then across his fellow disciples. For that brief moment, Sanzang felt a jolt of something unfamiliar, although it wasn’t unpleasant. But as soon as he felt it, the moment passed, and he didn’t quite know how to articulate himself, so he said nothing. 

Friar Sand was nodding, as if in agreement with the eldest disciple, when Pig yawned loudly, being the laziest of them all. He scratched his exposed tummy, still hungry despite the excess of congee he’d eaten earlier, and announced he was ready to retire for the night. Him and Friar Sand made their way to their respective bedrolls and snuggled under their blankets for the night. Soon enough the campsite was filled with the sounds of Pig snoring, and Wukong and Sanzang were, for all intents and purposes, alone. 

The monk and monkey had been together longest, and had the best understanding of each other than anyone else in the group. So the silence that fell between them was not necessarily indicative of any discomfort or anger between them, although Sanzang did feel a certain tension. It was surprising to learn that kissing was the thing the Monkey King missed most of all from his life before their pilgrimage west. Although Sanzang had never kissed anyone, he had seen enough kisses in his time. As a child he’d seen men kissing their wives, little chaste touches to the cheek. During their pilgrimage he’d stumbled across passionate lovemaking in the alleyway next to their inn, lips sloppily joining together despite Pig’s hollering and whooping. And as a monk he had never had the urge to kiss, had never even had the thought cross his mind that kissing was something he could do with someone else, and yet… something about Wukong’s speech that evening had awoken something within him that made him want to try. 

It was new. It was a little frightening. But it was also exciting, and maybe this was the kind of adventure he would seek once their pilgrimage ended.

After some time meditating on the issue, Sanzang steeled himself. He was by no means a brave man, having shed thousands of tears during their journey west for the poverty he had seen, for the kidnappings he had suffered, for the innocents killed by vicious spirits, but he knew Wukong would not refuse him. He rose to his feet and approached the monkey king. Still he was sat against the tree. His eyes were closed but opened as he heard Sanzang’s approach, the golden orbs asking the silent question. 

“It was touching, what you said before,” Sanzang said, keeping his voice so low that Wukong had to stand to hear properly. Although he was certain the other disciples were asleep, the monk knew he would never hear the end of it if they saw what was about to happen. His heart began thudding in his chest as Wukong looked up at him expectantly. 

“You’re not mad, Master? I thought you’d lecture me on physical attachments.” Wukong replied, a slightly cheeky look on his face. Sanzang didn’t rise to the challenge, his upbringing as a Buddhist for the first time in his life fading into the background. 

“I’d like to try,” Sanzang whispered. 

The word ‘kiss’ had not been exchanged between the two, but they both knew. Sanzang peered into Wukong’s face, but it was unreadable, even with the moonlight illuminating his features. 

“You’re sure, Master?” Wukong asked, although looking into the monk’s eyes, he already knew the answer.

Sanzang didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded. He could hear his heartbeat thumping wildly in his ears, and prayed that even Wukong’s hearing was not sharp enough to catch the sound. 

The corners of Wukong’s lips tilted upwards just enough for him to smile. “Alright then,” he said. He began murmuring the words of a spell, and his face began to change shape, taking on the form of the dancing woman from earlier, but –

“No.”

Wukong stopped, the transformation paused. His features looked more feminine, and he had grown a little taller. His eyes were full of questioning. 

“Just…” Sanzang paused, struggling to find the words. He felt like his voice was tiny, small. “… Just as yourself.”

Wukong blinked, and then his face transformed again back into its actual shape. Wukong looked to the side, thoughts still inscrutable, and he whispered to himself, “You are…”. Sanzang had been about to ask what the matter was, why it was so surprising for him to accept, but then the macaque turned back to face his Master, and that quiet confidence he always had was back in place. 

“Alright,” Wukong said. His eyes flicked from Sanzang’s eyes to his lips, and the monk decided to follow his disciple’s lead. 

Slowly their faces got closer, and Wukong rested a furred hand on the monk’s arm to steady himself as he went on his tiptoes. And then, their lips brushed against each other, Wukong’s slightly damp ones against Sanzang’s dry ones. Instinctively, Sanzang drew back and ran his tongue over his lips, and then moved back in to kiss the monkey king again, eyes fluttering shut. Somehow he felt calmer, although the touch of Wukong’s lips against his was the most exciting thing he’d ever done. 

Wukong opened his mouth, and hesitantly Sanzang did the same. The macaque slid his arms around Sanzang’s middle, bringing them closer, and the sudden intimacy of what they were doing struck Sanzang so hard it made him dizzy. His tongue brushed against Wukong’s, the warm wetness nothing like he’d ever experienced, and he felt his own arms snaking around Wukong’s neck. Their kiss was a slow one, but somehow like the sweeter kind Wukong had mentioned during his confession. Sanzang felt a warmth and joy flood through him, and he couldn’t help smiling, although it broke the kiss.

Sanzang opened his eyes, Wukong’s face still close to his. He was smiling too. 

They stayed stood like that for a moment longer, and Wukong sighed, bringing his hands back to Sanzang’s front, to his collarbone, and he took a step back, away from the monk. He wasn’t pushing Sanzang away. Although the monk didn’t say anything, he felt bereft as soon as he stopped being held. 

“How was that?” Wukong whispered, hands still pressed to Sanzang’s chest. 

“Nice,” the monk said, because it had felt nice.

Wukong smiled again. It seemed to Sanzang that a little sadness had been in that smile, but it could have just been a trick of the moonlight. “Anytime, Master,” he said, and finally lowered his hands from Sanzang’s chest. The skin where he had touched felt warm, but Sanzang didn’t say anything about it. 

“Thank you, Wukong,” Sanzang said, really meaning it. 

“Anytime, Master,” Wukong repeated, that look back on his face. 

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Master.”

With that, Sanzang turned back towards the camp to where his belongings were, and began to arrange himself under his blankets for a night under the stars. Wukong watched him leave, unmoving, stone for the first time in hundreds of years. Finally he turned away from the sight, eyes downcast, and the moon hid behind some clouds so the camp was covered in darkness.

On the other side of the camp, Pig stirred. He rummaged around in a small pouch tied to his wrist, dug out some coins, and threw them over to where Friar Sand was sleeping. The water demon said nothing, but grunted in acknowledgement of receiving his winnings. 

‘Told you they would’, the grunt seemed to say.


End file.
